An Unfortunate Run In Gone Perfectly Fortunate
by Isabella Uke
Summary: Punk Rocket has a very educational experience in the school shower room with Johnny Rancid, whether he likes it or not. In chapter two, his jealous lover, Mad Mod, will make sure he is punished properly.
1. Chapter 1

Thomas didn't like being in the showers all alone, because it made him paranoid, mostly over the fact that Blood, almost without a doubt, had cameras all over the place. On the other hand, he didn't really like being in there with tons of other guys, because all the slippery bodies and glistening cocks made him nervous. Everyone there had a gay experience eventually, but you weren't really supposed to have them out in public, especially if it was with a teacher [which wasn't at all uncommon] God forbid you pop a boner in the public shower.

In any event, it was required by school rule to get a shower after gym, so, when dodge ball had ended and he was done nursing his wounds [because any game with powers could get quite violent- he had the bad end of the deal. You couldn't exactly bring a guitar to gym class.] he slipped into the shower with everyone else. The room was steamy and obnoxiously loud, as if everyone was trying to compensate for being hormonally charged and nervous. He joked along with the rest of them, basically mauling Kyd on the way to the showers, laughing just a bit too loud and being generally rude. But as soon as people started slipping out of clothes and getting in to the water, he went for the very corner shower [having to beat people out of the way, because this one was coveted] and tried to wash as quickly as he could. There was a time limit on showering, and by that the rule meant that you couldn't have a shower shorter than ten minutes, supposedly because that was just enough time to get clean. Punk had always suspected it was to prolong the generally uncomfortable feel of it all.

After all of this nonsense, he was less than happy to see Johnny, who had a sort of reputation for being sexually ambiguous in a nonchalant way that somehow made everyone nervous, make his way over to the shower head directly next to him. He and Johnny were friends, somewhat, in the way that they took a liking to bullying other kids, and sometimes did it together. They shared a certain feeling o bad-assery when they went around in boots and generally alternative clothing. Still, Johnny wasn't the kind of guy a teenage boy liked to stand next to. It brought the ego down considerably. This meaning that, when nervous and limp, Punk was about six inches, and when erect, pushing eight, if he was lucky. Johnny was constantly pushing eight, and Punk didn't much want to see him erect. He blushed, although his face was already red from the heat, and looked straight at the shower walls when the older boy came his way. Why the hell did Rancid have to stare right at him?

Thomas tried to ignore the way that he tensed up, and he tried to stare straight in front of himself. He tried not to jump when Johnny reached for the soap in the silver holder, and he tried not to admire the extremely ripped arm that grasped the shampoo bottle. Fawning over Johnny wasn't his department, he reminded himself as he stared up into the hot water, rinsing his face [which wasn't much helping his acne, but he didn't like the smelly stuff Neil had given him for it. It stung]. Last time he'd checked, it was Jericho's job, and the little faggot was all too happy to do it, practically flipping up his skirt every time Rancid made a threat to push him up against the lockers. Punk's closed eyes twitched in irritation. He hated the blonde, and couldn't see the appeal in him, but he was a charismatic little fuck, and all the girls adored him for being so cute and small, so he was really untouchable.

At the Hive, sexual orientation was difficult. Somehow, unless you were social like Jericho, or extremely comfortable with being picked on, you couldn't be gay, but, unless you wanted to take a lot of shit from females and teachers, you couldn't be homophobic. Thomas had played both sides of the field for as long as he could remember, but he liked to be the man, so to speak, which was what made Johnny, who was so masculine, so frightening. And yet, so appealing. Punk wouldn't lie, he'd had a couple of thoughts after some more uncomfortable run-ins with the older boy, but he'd never pursued anything, assuming these were just Johnny's ideas of a good time: a rude ass grab in the hall, a shove into the wall that left them pressed together for just a moment too long.

He found himself wanting to leave the locker room, because he could no longer hear people shouting. His eyes were closed, so his only indication of the situation getting increasingly dangerous in the awkwardness department was the silence. Still, he couldn't bring himself to walk past Johnny. Punk wished that Johnny would just get out, but he was taking an inordinate amount of time. There was no way in the world that it took that much time to wash those rippling muscles…but that thought was equally uncomfortable. He cursed mentally,

Then, out of nowhere, he got the sensation of Johnny moving, and the weird tingles one gets when another is staring right at them. He opened his dull red eyes and..nearly jumped out of his skin. Johnny was right there. Literally, _right _there. How long had he been standing less than a foot away? It could have been ages, Punk thought, panicking and backing up against the wall, laughing his nerves off.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing, mate?' he joked, hoping that maybe Rancid had just been reaching for the soap again, but he'd never been overly clean, so Punk sincerely doubted it. He drug his tongue over his [abnormally girly] lips, which, even in the warm spray, seemed to go dry.

Johnny rolled his eyes and came forward more, as if Punk was the exceedingly thick one, not him, and the question was totally ridiculous. As if it was natural for him to be cornering someone in the school showers.

'Don't fuck with me-' Johnny said, then paused to rethink his wording. 'I mean don't be stupid.' Punk shook his head, trying to look startled, even though he knew exactly what was going on. He imagined his normally heavy-lidded eyes must have been wide open, because they stung like mad. How long had Johnny been built like a tank? Of course Thomas knew he was muscular, but seeing him up close like that was a bit of a mind fuck. His body was eerily pale, though, so on his biceps, which were sexy in a conventional way, every single blue vein could be seen. It was overly intimidating, the younger man discovered, especially when Rancid reached one out to push on his shoulder.

'Like you haven't been thinking about me for the last twenty minutes. Keeping your eyes closed like you don't even know I'm here.'

Punk choked on his answer. Wasn't Johnny supposed to be…a little bit retarded?

'I don't mind,' Johnny continued, leaning in and breathing out right next to Thomas' ear. He was still stuttering out an answer, so he didn't bother to move. He could hear Johnny stop talking to grin, even though he couldn't see the smile.

Even though he'd seen it coming, Punk couldn't help but make a noise like a scared cat and flinch when Rancid's hand met his cock. He wasn't used to that at all. There'd been absolutely no foreplay, as there always was with Neil, who, if anything, took too much time getting to the good stuff. To his horror, he felt blood rush to the spot immediately, as if his body had been waiting for it for ages or something.

'Johnny-' he began, then stopped to squirm and moan, eyes squeezing shut as the man began to rub him. His fist wrapped nicely around the slight curve to Thomas' erection, coaxing it up. What made it ten times more embarrassing, perhaps, was that Johnny didn't seem to have one, he was still limp. It made the situation seem so very far out of Punk's control. There wasn't much time to think about it though, sense his senses were working overtime. Johnny had found the soft place where his neck met just below his chin, directly under his ear, and was working on what promised to be a very vibrant hickey. He might as well have signed his name in permanent marker, because Jericho always had them, and Punk was sure everyone would know it had been Rancid. He'd probably have to wear the creepy collar Neil had gotten him to cover it up.

His member ached. That was the only word for it. Johnny was a master at it, the art of the hand job, that is. Even the scrape of his chipped black nails felt amazing. There was no pain to it, as Punk had generally assumed there would be. He would have gladly accepted pain, actually, because it was pretty humiliating to moan like a whore and push himself all too willingly into Johnny's hand. Still, he couldn't very well stop, because by that time he'd told himself that this was what he'd been asking for. Stupid, really, not leaving before then. His balls hurt.

First hickey being finished, the teeth found a lower part of his neck to make another, and all the while the hand worked him over, pausing to rub the thumb over his head twice, then back down, a gentle squeeze, then more jerking. Punk could hear a distant cursing that he recognized as himself.

It was the most disturbing orgasm of his life: all over his stomach and Johnny's hand, while listening to the older boy laugh against his skin.

And the moments after weren't too lovely either, really, standing there with his eyes closed, ejaculate all over his body, slowly getting washed away, and bruises forming on his neck, where anyone could see, while waiting for a sign of Johnny's departure.

When he finally opened his eyes, Rancid had left the room, leaving with him a feeling of unfinished business…


	2. In Installment in Three Parts

[Part One.]

The next few days were extremely strange for Thomas, who was pretty much waiting for the axe to fall on his head. By this I mean, he was waiting to get raped in some bathroom. Johnny Rancid didn't just fondle your junk for the hell of it and expect nothing in return. It made him anxious to walk in the hallways, even though he knew it wasn't even plausible for Johnny to jump him there.

That was another thing. Johnny did have a habit of jumping people in hallways, although it was more specifically Jericho. In Punk's mind, the kid asked for it though. The whole sight of it gave him a very unwanted twist of jealousy that made him flinch. Why should he be jealous? Johnny had nothing to do with him; if he should be jealous of anyone, it should be Neil.

In any event, he'd been walking down the hallway with Billy Numerous one day, who had been talking loudly about nothing in particular: football, NASCAR, whatever the hell amused him. The punk hadn't been listening. His vision had been fixated on Jericho, who, for whatever reason, was wearing an extremely short skirt that day. It wasn't in dress code- not that he really liked the dress code himself, but he was sure that if a girl had been wearing it, she would have probably been strapped or something. Sent to change, at least. But Blood was weird, so Jericho was getting away with the awful turquoise thing, which showed half his ass when he leaned up to undo the lock on his locker [he was quite short, so someone had probably found it humorous to give him one on the top].

Keep in mind that Thomas was watching purely out of annoyance. He had less than a shred of attraction for Jericho. Maybe it was because he was focusing so hard on the dirty look he was shooting the blonde that Johnny seemed to materialize out of the air. And that was exactly how it looked. One moment, Jericho was humming to himself and getting out an assload of faggy pink binders, and the next, Johnny had him slammed up against the metal by the back of his head. Punk stepped back abruptly at the bang it made, and Billy stopped talking for a moment, but then started laughing. Jericho didn't seem to find it very funny, but as Punk passed, he managed to catch just a bit of what they were saying.

"…in that short skirt, you were just asking for me to put my hand up here, weren't you, you little faggot…' Johnny said hoarsely, and indeed, his hand was up the skirt in god knows where, something that Thomas had not noticed at first.

"Johhny, please, Johnny, don't,' Jericho was squealing in a ridiculously girly voice. That was about the moment that Punk realized that the entire thing was pretty much just a huge, horny game in front of the entire school. The tips of his ears went bright red with irritation. They could at least save it for the bedroom. In a moment, Kitten showed up, wearing an almost identical outfit to Jericho's, which Punk found disturbing, and bitched at Johnny until he let Jericho go and stalked off. Thomas had always hated her, because she was a teacher's pet and a total whore, but at that moment, he want to go and give her a hug. This, too, was disturbing, mostly because he wasn't sure why.

He and Billy had gone to class without any difficulty after that. He didn't get much work done though, staring at the back of Rancid's head.

[Part Two.]

Punk had taken as much of the anxiety of Johnny's presence as he could, but it was getting out of hand. Hiding the hickeys had been hard enough, but hiding his jealousy and his misunderstanding was ten times worse. He started skipping classes to stand outside and smoke, because it calmed him down, but this didn't do him much good, because Neil hated the cigarettes, so unless he bathed in cheap cologne, he'd get a beating.

Needless to say he spent much of his time in cheap cologne.

About a week had gone by when, out of nowhere, his will broke, and he knew he and Johnny had to talk. It was just a rumor that set him off, but the rumor was all too believable. It being that: while in class with a particularly boring and inattentive substitute teacher, Johnny and Jericho had pushed their desks together, and the blonde had given him a very subtle hand job under the desk. This seemed nearly impossible to do, but it bothered the hell out of him anyways.

That afternoon, he wrote a note to stick in to Johnny's locker. He didn't really want to come across as totally gay, so he settled for something like this.

Johnny Rancid,

Meet me behind the building for a smoke at 3.

Punk

It still seemed like a cry for attention, but he couldn't have given two fucks at that point. He didn't have any free periods that day, so he'd had to settle for raising his hand in class and asking for the bathroom. Normally he would have gotten up and left without asking, but the teacher happened to be Neil, who didn't take kindly to the action.

But Punk had never been too clever, and he'd failed to remember that Johnny's locker was to the left, and the boy's bathroom was to the right, so, Neil, who was never too trusting, had full view of him exiting the classroom in the wrong direction.

He'd gone for a while, worried at first that he'd forget the number of his locker, but remembering with a hint of amusement that Johnny's locker was covered in dents and burn marks, so it'd be hard to miss. By the time he got to it, he'd been feeling pretty good, and pretty hopeful that he and Johnny could maybe clear the air, even if he ended up with a black eye. In fact, by the time he got to the part where he was supposed to shove the note through the gaps in the door, nothing could have put a damper on his attitude. Until Neil's hand closed around his ear and began to drag him back down the hall, swiping the note from his grip.


End file.
